


The Prince and The Sorcerer

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “You said it was important,” Stiles replied.“It is,” Scott stated. “It’s about Mel …” He frowned. “Well, it’s about Derek.”Stiles paled some. “Did you hear something?” He took a step closer to Scott. “Is he okay? Where—”“Stiles,” Derek stated, moving into view as he came to stand by Cora.Stiles turned to look at Derek. He released a heavy sigh, his breath terrified and quickening. “You’re … alive.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCriminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCriminal/gifts).



> As promised, here is my Christmas gift, as voted by you guys. You wanted fic #7, and here is the mpreg fic with good old drama~

“I heard he’s very handsome,” Cora commented, watching Derek stare out of the carriage’s window.

“Objectively so,” Derek offered, wishing he had pressed for riding his horse instead of being cornered into a carriage with his sister.

“Derek,” Cora sighed. “I know you think he’s a sight to behold.”

“Then why bother poking the subject as if you wanted my opinion if you already know it?” Derek countered, turning his head to look at Cora.

“How did you part?” Cora asked, not at all moved by Derek’s glare.

“He left before anyone could say goodbye to him,” Derek answered, turning to look back out the window, his eyes tracking the passing trees.

“You could feign illness,” Cora offered.

Derek softly snorted in amusement. “I appreciate that, but we don’t need to get our family in any more trouble than we’re already in.”

Cora frowned at that reminder.

If it hadn’t been for the Argents, they wouldn’t be headed to Beacon’s palace in an attempt to broker an alliance. They would both be home with their family now instead of breaking the traditional mourning period.

Derek subconsciously ran his hand along the black armband he was wearing. He remembered asking his mother why his father wore such an armband after his grandfather died. He remembered her taking him in her arms and explaining how custom dictated a person presenting their loss to the world. He felt safe and warm in his mother’s arms, her love shielding Derek from the pain ahead.

Now with their family scattered, mostly dead thanks to the Argent’s treachery, Derek and Cora needed to make alliances. And their last chance rested in Beacon—with one of the strong factions that had rose up in the kingdom. There were several main families, all powerful and wealthy in their own right, but helped to make up the coalition that helped establish Beacon as a rising power.

The family that had become the center of it all had been the McCall family—a family that had been born from the razed structures of the empire. The McCalls were deemed regal, given the titles of monarchs, and began their reign.

Derek dreaded facing Stiles again, but knew that their last hope rested with rekindling whatever it was they shared those stranded nights.

~*~

Derek fidgeted, unable to keep his nerves from over powering his senses. It had been almost two years since he saw Stiles. He had tried writing him, allowing his pride to crumble to his need for word of Stiles. Every single one of his letters were returned without a single answer.

And now, after all that time and rejection, Derek was going to see Stiles again. Hundreds of scenarios played out in his head, most of them resulting in Stiles begging for his forgiveness; others ended with both of them accepting an alliance based off of their marriage. He refused to let himself be so hopeful.

“Announcing her royal highness, Cora Elizabeth Natalia Hale, and his royal highness, Samuel Derek Nicholas Hale, II,” the herald announced to the ballroom.

Derek felt his worry wash away when Cora took his arm, prompting him to move forward. He focused on walking down the stairs, determined not to trip and make a fool of himself. He was thankful Cora was there to ground him in reality, reminding him that they were in Beacon to broker an alliance, nothing more. Derek’s future happiness resulting from the rekindling of an old flame was more pointless romanticism that Derek refused to find acceptable.

In what felt achingly slow, Derek and Cora finally reached the middle of the ballroom. He knew the practiced bowing and curtseying both he and Cora had to memorize—ever the pleasing children to their mother’s every whim of upholding propriety and custom. He held his hand out to Cora to take, allowing her to curtsey first before acceptably entering into his bow, keeping his head down as he waited for Beacon’s crowned prince to bid them rise.

The room was silent, staring in awe at the regal prostration of the old empire. The Hale line was the last purebred line to trickle down out of the chaos and corruption that lead to the collapse of the empire and birth of unified kingdoms. The Hales could trace their lineage back to the first Emperor, making their blood pure in accordance to the present day Court—comprised of mixed bloodlines.

Derek hated how elitist their lineage made expectations for them. They were no more powerful or wealthy than the next royal family. They had a gilded name and a dwindling line of succession. Cora and Derek were chess pieces needing to be moved to ensure their family’s survival, and the whole Court wanted to see how it played out.

“Please, rise,” a friendly voice finally broke the silence. A soft series of footsteps followed as the owner drew closer.

Derek held his position, making it easier for Cora to come out of her curtsey. He moved with little difficulty, offering his arm to Cora once more as they turned to look at the owner of the voice.

The man was young, his hair longer than Derek’s with a faint flip of curls at the ends. His skin was tanned, closer to how many people of Triskelia looked in comparison to the fair skin of Beaconians. He had welcoming brown eyes and a slightly crooked—but friendly—smile as he approached both Cora and Derek.

“Welcome to Beacon,” the young man greeted them, fumbling to clasp his hands behind his back when he realized he was about to shake their hands.

Cora faintly squeezed Derek’s arm, a silent confirmation that she saw the young man’s fumble. It was a dead give away in the Court—the young man was raised outside of the regal greeting customs, suggesting that his rise in status came from an elected course of action by the people, or elevation via marriage.

“We thank you for extending your invitation,” Cora replied, slightly bowing her head in respect.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the young man started, realizing that he had learned both Cora’s and Derek’s names through the herald, but the siblings likely knew no one else in attendance—if not by name only. “I am Scott McCall,” he continued.

Derek’s heart thumped harder in his chest.

“McCall,” Cora noted in mock innocence. “The McCalls of Beacon, no doubt. Are you the heir to the McCall name?” She pressed, not caring that Derek was starting to dig his nails into her forearm to stop her from continuing.

Scott tilted his head to the side slightly, trying to gage what Cora was getting at. “I am,” he honestly answered. “But it is a long story.”

“One I should like to hear,” Cora smiled back. “I’m sure Derek would find it fascinating as well.”

Derek wanted to glare at her, not caring who saw him.

“It’s a story I don’t mind sharing, but some find it increasingly boring,” Scott smiled.

Derek looked the man over, not finding a similarity to Stiles as he had thought a familial member would. Perhaps Stiles lied about his name, or even been married into the McCall family. Derek was willing to accept almost any possibility at this point.

It was then that Derek caught sight of the ring adorning Scott’s middle finger. It was a simple ring, as far as insignias were concerned. Most nobles, let alone royals, liked to have their insignias large enough to from across a dining table. But Scott’s was modest, as Stiles’ had been—nearly an identical set.

“You’re not the McCall heir I met,” Derek stated, not caring if he sounded rude.

Cora gently nudged Derek, trying to keep him from embarrassing anyone.

Scott looked at Derek, turning his head to the side in the form of a silent question. “I’m confused as to who you were expecting, your highness.”

“The man I met on the road a few years ago,” Derek answered, not willing to let it go despite Cora’s discomfort. He was also equally unwilling to divulge information about what exactly happened between himself and Stiles. “He wore the exact same signet ring,” he pressed, not at all amused at the situation at hand.

Sudden realization pulled at Scott’s features. “You’re … you’re Derek?”

Cora’s eyebrows furrowed, slightly confused by Scott’s obvious statement. “As was established when we arrived,” she stated.

“But you’re Prince Samuel,” Scott pushed, his features matching his perplexed tone.

“The Second,” Derek tiredly elaborated. “My titled name is Samuel Derek Nicholas Hale, II. To distinguish myself from my father, I’ve chosen to go by Derek.”

Scott’s eyes slowly widened. “Oh,” he softly uttered.

Derek stole a quick glance at Cora, noting her loss as equal to his own before looking back at Scott. “I would like to know what is going on.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m only starting to realize what is going on, Prince … Derek.” He turned to his guard, relaying a soft command, “Please ask Stiles to join us—tell him it’s important and I need him to listen for once.”

~*~

Scott had them retire into one of the many studies, providing privacy from the Court.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to arrive.

And he was as breathtaking as Derek remembered him.

Stiles was lean as he was tall, his shoulder broad and housing good degree of toned muscle hidden beneath his clothes. He wore an ordinary tunic, the material gathered tightly over his body and held together by his tight waistcoat. He wore an ornate cape draped partially over his shoulder. His hair was in disarray, dark circles under his eyes. He looked gorgeous even with his exhaustion.

“Scott, what’s wrong?” Stiles questioned as he entered the room. He didn’t recognize Cora, arching his eyebrow slightly as he looked back at Scott.

“Stiles, I’m glad you came,” Scott answered with a faint smile. His worry was evident.

“You said it was important,” Stiles replied.

“It is,” Scott stated. “It’s about Mel …” He frowned. “Well, it’s about Derek.”

Stiles paled some. “Did you hear something?” He took a step closer to Scott. “Is he okay? Where—”

“Stiles,” Derek stated, moving into view as he came to stand by Cora.

Stiles turned to look at Derek. He released a heavy sigh, his breath terrified and quickening. “You’re … alive.”

~*~

Stiles nervously fiddled with his hands, waiting for Derek to speak. He had a million questions about what happened; who Derek was; why he was here, now of all times. His thoughts were racing as they sat in the silence of the sitting room—one of the few rooms in Stiles’ quarters.

“You look well,” Derek softly uttered, itching to climb across the coffee table and just hold Stiles. It felt longer than just a couple of years.

“So do you,” Stiles replied in kind.

“If there was someone else,” Derek started.

“There wasn’t—isn’t,” Stiles pushed.

Derek shook his head. “Don’t lie to me,” he uttered. “You know what I am, correct?” He remembered the way Stiles wasn’t afraid of his shifted appearance, of the claws that sprung forth. He remembered how he held Stiles close, despite the terror gripping him as his wolf recoiled in intense fear of being discovered in foreign land.

Stiles hesitated before nodding. He didn’t think either of them needed to say it out loud. Neither of them were considered human. “And you know I’m a mage. What of it all?”

“I have heightened hearing,” Derek elaborated. “Do not play me for the fool when you have someone in your rooms waiting for you.”

Stiles paled some. “There’s … there’s no one waiting for me,” he argued.

“You’re right, they’re sleeping,” Derek coldly answered. He hated how much he envied that person—to imagine what it would mean to fall asleep in Stiles’ bed, where he was welcomed, knowing that he would be able to wake up to Stiles every morning.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles started, running a hand through his hair.

Derek didn’t bother arguing. He stood from his spot on the couch, easily moving passed the coffee table and marching for the door leading further into Stiles’ rooms.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice was panicky, the sound of his teacup clattering and almost breaking. “Derek, don’t!” He hurriedly warned, dashing to catch up to him. His hand barely grasped Derek’s arm when Derek already had the door open.

Derek ignored Stiles’ hand on him, turning his head to look at the bed, waiting to see some man—woman—lounging about in scantily clad clothing, waiting for Stiles to come back to them.

But there was no one in the bed. It was empty, sheets still freshly made from this morning.

Stiles moved in front of Derek, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m begging you, just let me explain.”

“So you can lie to me again,” Derek countered, looking at Stiles. “The truth for once would be nice, Stiles. But I can’t trust you with that, can I?”

Stiles’ features sunk with guilt, hurt by Derek’s words, but knew that they held a truth to them. “I never meant to lie to you,” he explained. “You know how magic is treated in Argentum.”

“Why lie to _me_ about your name, then?” Derek pressed as he struggled to get control over his senses, turning to look around the room as he tried to pin point the soft sleepy breathing he still heard.

“I gave you my name—I go by Stiles, not my birth name,” Stiles quickly corrected him. “I told you McCall because that _is_ my family name now. My father was just a knight when he married Scott’s mother, and since I am a sorcerer, I’m out of the line for succession, but still considered a McCall.”

“You didn’t have to lie, Stiles,” Derek countered. “Not to me.”

“The Argents knew Meonenim Stilinski was the Beacon Court Sorcerer, I’m sorry I wasn’t willing to parade around with that information,” Stiles answered, his hurt turning to anger at Derek’s guilt trip. “I didn’t know who you were. We were two strangers in a dangerous kingdom—you didn’t tell me you were a Hale.”

“The Argents wanted to kill my family, you honestly still think I’d help them kill a Beaconian sorcerer?” Derek angrily demanded.

“ _The_ Beaconian Court Sorcerer,” Stiles corrected him. “I didn’t know who you were. And I didn’t know they wanted to kill your family, Derek,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice down.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about that anymore!” Derek snapped louder.

A cry rang out from within the room. The cry turned into sudden sobs, a wailing of a startled infant begging for its parent.

Derek tore his gaze away from Stiles, looking back into the room. His eyesight had adjusted to the soft illumination of the room, making it easier for him to see the furniture around the room—the cradle next to the bed.

Stiles pushed passed Derek, moving towards the cradle as he gently hushed away the small cries. He leaned over the railing of the cradle, scooping up the small crying form. He wrapped his arms around the child, holding the blanketed form against his chest. He placed a delicate kiss against the child’s head. He kept his back to Derek, scared to look at him and the anger that he would find there.

Derek couldn’t stop himself from staring at Stiles and the small child.

The child sniffled some, her cries gone now that Stiles was holding her. She pressed her face into Stiles’ shoulder, blinking up at Derek over Stiles’ shoulder. Her eyes were large for his face, in a similar fashion to Stiles’ own. They were a deep honeyed brown, the picture perfect example of innocence that Stiles radiated the first time Derek met him. Her hair was a dark shade, much darker than Stiles’ in comparison. Her little hand clutched at Stiles’ shoulder, playfully digging her fingertips at Stiles’ shirt.

Derek didn’t have to guess, he knew whose she was.

“How old is she?” Derek forced himself to ask, staring at the child.

Stiles rubbed his hand up and down the child’s back, listening to her intakes of breath. He waited until she seems lulled, moving to set her back down in her cradle, hoping her tears wouldn’t return. He placed her down in her cradle, his hand softly rubbing over her stomach as he placed a fleeting kiss on her forehead. He smiled down at her, moving to stand up. He conjured up a soft fireball in his hand, reaching up to the lamp off to the side.

The fire spiraled from his fingertips, slowing dancing across the lamp. Stiles closed the door to the lamp, watching the fire magically conjure and dance different shapes and images, making different pictures to lull the girl to sleep. The fire formed a wolf howling before flickering into a waltzing couple, dancing in circles with one another.

Stiles turned back to Derek, walking over to him and gesturing towards the door. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the room.

Derek recanted, leaving the room at Stiles’ prompting. He waited until Stiles closed the door. “How old is she, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed, resting his forehead against the door. “She just turned one,” he uttered, tears burning the back of his throat.

“You never told me,” Derek furiously started, shaking his head. “You kept this from me—”

“I didn’t know who you were, Derek,” Stiles snapped, turning around to face Derek. “I thought you had fled. The room was a vandalized—I had to run before I was captured.”

“You never once tried to contact me—”

“How could I?” Stiles snapped. “I’ve exhausted my resources—myself—all in attempts to try and find you. But you’re not the only Derek in the world.”

“Every single letter I sent here was returned unanswered,” Derek vehemently stated. “Not once did you answer—”

“What letters?” Stiles asked, his features suddenly falling. “Derek, I never received any letters.”

“I tried contacting you— it wasn’t some mindless fuck for me,” Derek angrily snapped.

“It wasn’t for me either,” Stiles answered in a similar passion. “You honestly think I would have a child of some man I disliked? That I despised?”

“I don’t know what you felt for me,” Derek quietly replied.

“Bullshit,” Stiles countered. “You knew how I felt. I know you could tell—any wolf could smell it on me.” He released a heavy breath, moving to sit back down on the couch. He wrapped his hands around his stomach, closing his eyes as he concentrated on settling his stomach.

“She’s my daughter,” Derek emptily stated as he remained standing.

“She’s mine too,” Stiles answered, turning to look at Derek.

“You don’t know what this means,” Derek stated, turning to look at Stiles. “She’s more than just that.”

“I told you,” Stiles started, running a hand along his throat as he felt a scream climbing through his chest. “I’m not in line for the throne because of my magic,” he huffed.

“But I am,” Derek replied.

Stiles looked at Derek.

“My sisters and I are the last Hales,” Derek confessed. “With our parents dead, we’re all next in line. Laura was just announced as the crowned princess.”

Stiles closed his eyes. “That makes Melody next in line after you.”

Derek took a moment before walking over to Stiles, taking a seat next to him. He had a daughter. He had a daughter and her name was Melody. A lightness bubbled up in Derek’s chest. “Does she have magic?”

Stiles partially snorted. “Won’t know until she’s older.”

Derek released a heavy breath.

“You can’t take her from me,” Stiles started, turning a critical eye on Derek. “I won’t let you take her from me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Derek partially growl. “Unlike how you stole knowledge of her very existence from me.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Stiles hissed. “Excuse me for not parading around the fact that I was knocked up by some werewolf named Derek while I was on the run from the Argents.”

Derek gritted his teeth, hating how intense their emotional whiplash was. He chose his next words. “Is it true that Scott is trying to raise a defense against them?”

Stiles nodded.

“Cora and I came here to broker some kind of alliance between our kingdom and yours,” Derek explained. “We need the alliance to protect us from future threats.”

Stiles remained silent as he absorbed Derek’s words. “What about you?”

Derek turned to look at Stiles. “What do you mean?”

“What do you need?” Stiles asked. “I actually guess I’m asking what do you want more than what do you need.”

Derek looked away from Stiles. “I haven’t known what I wanted for a long time, Stiles.”

Stiles reached a hand out, taking hold of Derek’s hand. “I never wanted to keep her from you,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to keep you from her either.”

Derek looked at Stiles, his expression hopeful. “The wolf prince and the sorcerer. Sounds like a cautionary fable.”

“I would like it be a fairy tale,” Stiles partially smiled. “Preferably with a happy ending.”

Derek looked down at their hands, tightening his hold on Stiles’. “Can I … can I hold her?”

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, the words stuck in his chest. He couldn’t reject Derek’s soft request, knowing he denied him so much already. He withdrew from the couch, his hand slipping from Derek’s as he moved towards the other room. He was gone momentarily, leaving Derek alone in the sitting room to the silent crackle of the fire. He returned, bundle in arms as he walked over to Derek.

Derek’s eyes focused on the sleeping bundle in his arms, able to see Melody’s small hand clutching at Stiles’ chest as she snuggled against him.

Stiles paused before Derek, waiting for him to reach out for Melody. He prompted the movement by bending close to Derek, offering Melody for him to hold.

Melody jostled some, her arm falling from Stiles’ chest and unconsciously reaching out for Derek. She smacked her lips as she stirred a bit.

Derek took her from Stiles’ arms, settling her into the crook of his arm.

Melody was small for her size, not looking as most one year olds would. She curled against Derek’s chest, her hand reaching for Derek’s. She yawned, her stirring falling back into solid slumber.

Derek steadied his arm against his thigh, making sure that he wouldn’t disturb Melody’s sleep. “She’s beautiful,” he commented, reaching his free hand up to gently caress her cheek. His fingertips brushed through her soft locks. “If I knew … Stiles, if I had known there was a chance we could have had all this …” He looked up at Stiles. “If I knew I could have run away with you—”

“I know,” Stiles earnestly answered. “I think I always knew.”

“I want her safe,” Derek continued, looking down at Melody once more. “I want you both safe.”

“We’ll never be completely safe, Derek,” Stiles explained. “We’re safest when together, nothing more could help protect us than our devotion to one other.”

“And you think that happiness could make this all work?” Derek questioned.

“I think it’s worth a try,” Stiles echoed. “I’m still technically part of the McCall family. And you’re still a Hale no matter what.” He bit back his sharp sob as he thought about the other scenario. “If you don’t want to try again—if whatever we have doesn’t work, Melody is already the embodiment of an alliance. All you would have to do is accept her as yours, and she could serve as our treaty of peace.”

“I wouldn’t do that to her,” Derek countered, bringing her closer to his chest, an action of selfishness in trying to keep her safe against his heart. He looked up at Stiles. “But I do want this.”

“As do I,” Stiles agreed with a fond smile.

~*~

Stiles spun the ring around his finger, nibbling his bottom lip as he kept his smile hidden. He loved how perfect the ring looked wrapped around his finger. He was glad that Derek had chosen such a ring.

“What are you thinking?” Derek questioned, his voice soft and content as he pressed a lingering kiss to Stiles’ stomach. He ran his hands along Stiles’ stomach, his fingertips tracing along the curve of his swollen stomach, brushing along the in turned angle of his hips.

“About you,” Stiles commented, looking down at Derek. “Of the baby.”

Derek gracefully slunk over Stiles’ body, hovering above him.

“I’m thinking about what would have happened if I had found you before Melody was born,” Stiles continued. “I often wonder what would have happened if your letters had been delivered as they should have been.”

“You have me now,” Derek answered. “We have each other, and that’s what matters.” He allowed his hand to rest over the top of Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles softly smiled, placing his hand on top of Derek’s as he thought about how he wished for this when carrying Melody. He remembered crying himself to sleep some nights, thinking he’d never hear word of Derek again—of how often he had his hopes torn apart whenever a spell failed him for finding Derek. He pressed a fond kiss to Derek’s lips, leaving those thoughts behind as he focused on his joy of now.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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